Movie Night
by CharWright5
Summary: A rare movie night for Derek and Stiles.


_**A/N: **__Um, this is dumb and came to me while watching "Transformers: Dark of the Moon" (even though this makes references to "Revenge of the Fallen" but whatever). I just have a random headcanon involving Derek, Bumblebee, and his Camaro... All characters belong to Jeff Davis, noMTV, and "Teen Wolf". "Transformers" is property of Hasbro and whatever idiot decided there should be a fourth movie (which no, stop it, no Shia no point). The Camaro is property of Chevrolet and a sexy ass car._

* * *

Movie night was a pretty rare thing because, for some inexplicable reason, Stiles actually had a full social calendar. And, okay, it wasn't like he was constantly hanging out with the popular jocks that used to shove him into lockers for no other reason than the fact that they could, no parties on the weekends, or shit like that. No his schedule was filled with keeping up with countless werewolves—who he was best friends with—dealing with whatever supernatural force was threatening Beacon Hills that week, making sure his dad ate and came home to a decent looking house, and, oh yeah, school and all the bullshit that came with it.

So on the rare occasion that all the little wolfies were behaving, nothing was trying to destroy his hometown, his house looked awesome, chores done, Dad fed, and schoolwork aught up, he took full advantage. Meaning he invited his boyfriend over for movies and popcorn—and hopefully a whole lotta groping—while his dad pulled a nightshift solving a humans-only crime.

Derek was actually relaxed and at ease—another rare occurrence—lounging on the couch in a pair of jeans and a soft Henley, boots off and sitting by the front door—which he actually used. Stiles made the popcorn in the machine Derek had gotten him for his birthday—although it was more a gift for himself since Stiles only used it when the werewolf was around, hating the microwave stuff due to artificial something-or-others that he offended his sensitive wolfy palate—before joining him. Which then lead to an intense debate over what movie to put on.

Because Derek had somehow developed a thing against the masterpiece that was the _Star Wars_ trilogy.

"I don't have a _thing_ against it," Derek sighed, hand rubbing at his eyes, a move Stiles recognized as him being annoyed with his boyfriend for any number of reasons.

"Well, how else would you explain not wanting to watch the greatest movies ever made?" the younger male questioned in what wouldn't be considered an inside voice, before shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth and glaring at the werewolf on his couch.

Derek dropped his hand with a smack on the arm of the sofa, eyebrow raised at the younger male in a way that silently told him to get serious. Although really, Stiles already was. Clearly Derek was the one joking around.

Alternate universe much?

"We watch it every. Single. Time," the werewolf stated, exacerbated. "It's gotten to the point where even _I'm_ saying the lines with the actors."

"So?"

"_So_," he repeated with more emphasis. "How 'bout we watch something else? Let _me_ pick for a change."

Stiles sighed heavily, rolling his eyes in a manner he'd learned from his boyfriend. "Fiiine," he prolonged the word, sounding incredibly put out and annoyed—which he was. Wrist limp, he held the remote in the general direction of Derek, shoving the appendage in the popcorn bowl when the controller was taken from him.

He balanced pouting and stuffing his face as he watched the Netflix scroll move in front of his eyes, the amber orbs going wide when he saw what the werewolf was about to select.

"_Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen_?" he asked dubiously, popping missing his mouth and landing on his graphic tee, flannel open in front of it. "Are you serious?"

Derek shrugged one shoulder, light eyes fixed on the younger male. "What's wrong with it?"

"Well, for starters," Stiles began, turning in his seat to fully take in the larger male. The werewolf was completely at ease, one arm along the arm of the couch, the other along the back of it, slouched down in the corner of it. "You can't start with the second movie, you hafta start with the first."

"Why?"

"What if I haven't seen it?" He raised his eyebrows in defiance and question, almost daring Derek to come up with a good argument.

But the werewolf just gave him that same "get serious" look he had earlier, a wry twist to the lips added in for full effect. "You're a teenage boy. That's a sci-fi movie with alien robots that turn into cars, explosions, a rock soundtrack, and Megan Fox. You've seen it."

Stiles refused to admit the elder male was right and had made a very valid argument. Self-preservation really. The couch was only so big and wouldn't hold any inflated werewolf ego.

Instead he sat back against the couch in a huff and shoved more popcorn in his mouth as Derek selected the movie.

"But seriously, why this one?" he asked, unable to keep quiet for any reason.

Derek's hand slipped down so the tips of his fingers were touching Stiles' shoulder, the teenager giving in to the urge to snuggle into the werewolf's larger frame. "Second one's the best."

"Okaaaay," he slowly nodded, not really arguing against his opinion. Everyone had a favorite in any series and they'd already settled one debate that night. No need to start another. "But why?"

"For starters, no Rosie Huntington-Whitely." He reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn, putting it in his mouth one piece at a time.

Stiles bobbed his eyebrows in agreement. "So you prefer Megan Fox?"

A shrug was his answer.

The earlier pout came back, Stiles glaring at the screen as he shoved more popcorn in his mouth. His insecurities started playing up, self-conscious thoughts filling his mind. Derek was gorgeous, a walking talking orgasm wrapped up in tight jeans, leather jacket, and five o'clock shadow. Even when he was under suspicion for murder, he caught the eye of every female—and some males—in Beacon Hills. From his dark hair to his chiseled jaw to his sculpted abs, the guy was indescribably perfect.

Then there was Stiles.

It wasn't that he thought he was ugly or anything, but he wasn't gorgeous, attractive, sexy the way Derek was. Stiles was gangly, long-limbed, clutzy, pale-skinned. He had so many moles and freckles you could play connect the dots on his face. He was as far from perfect as Derek was from ugly.

So it was only fitting he'd wanna spend the next two hours staring at Megan Fox—plus a few moments of Isabel Lucas—than looking at Stiles.

A sigh came from his right, followed by the familiar sound of Derek smearing a hand over his head in frustration. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Stiles lied, focusing on the popcorn as he picked through it. "Just. I get it."

The body against his tensed up, the werewolf inhaling sharply. "Get what?"

"That you wanna stare at Megan Fox for a couple hours. I get it."

"Actually," he reluctantly began, hand laying back on the arm of the couch before the left one moved down to cup the smaller male's neck. "This one's my favorite because I like Sam's nerdy freak out, the way he writes those symbols all over the walls and speaks a million miles an hour about some random info he just learned." A smirk tugged up the comer of his lips as his tone became more playful. "Reminds me of someone I know."

"Can't imagine who," Stiles sarcastically remarked, using a popcorn covered hand to cover his own grin. The smack to the back of his head made him laugh more than anything, as well as drop food into his torso again. He picked the pieces back up as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"But Sam's spazzy attack happens in the second movie," he pointed out, turning his head to his boyfriend. Derek raised a questioning eyebrow to show he was listening, his own eyes locking into the other male's. "Which you wouldn't have known if you hadn't seen the first. So what made you decide to watch it in the first place?"

"What?" He feigned innocence, eyebrow still cocked. "I can't watch a movie for the robot cars, explosions, or awesome music?"

"You were living in an abandoned subway car at one point, hiding from hunters trying to kill you and trying to figure out who the evil were-lizard was," Stiles reminded him. "I feel like you weren't really one for wasting time watching movies you were only halfway interested in."

Derek's eyes grew distant, his face closing up as he turned back to the screen, not responding in any way.

Stiles had obvious hit a sensitive topic, touched something that wasn't meant to be poked. Fucking typical of him really, always running his mouth and saying the wrong thing, effectively ruining the moment.

He leaned forward to put the half empty bowl on the table, no longer hungry, wishing he could start the night over so he wouldn't fuck up so much.

"My mom," Derek stated when Stiles had settled back against the couch, voice so low the teenager wasn't entirely sure he'd heard it. "She got me one of the toys—Bumblebee—when I was a kid. Started my collection. I had every single one, was totally obsessed, but Bumblebee was always my favorite."

"Which was why you got the Camaro," Stiles inferred, nodding like it all made sense. Although Derek owning a car that screamed "sex" as much as the driver did made was a pretty good explanation, too.

"Yeah," the werewolf agreed quietly.

The conversation ended, Stiles snuggling further into the crook of Derek's arm, feeling the limb wrap around him tighter. Both of them got lost in the movie, watching as Megan Fox's character—Mikaela—caught a miniature Decepticon disguised as an RV monster truck.

Until Stiles broke the silence, as he was prone to do.

"So, if I'm Sam, does that make you Mikaela?" he questioned, only halfway sarcastic. "I mean, makes sense. Both of you are hot as hell and inexplicably in love with someone so far below your league they're practically playing tee-ball."

"Stiles?"

The teenager tilted his head up to see his boyfriend's face, noting the way the lights from the TV played in his eyes. "Yes, dear?"

"Shut up."

He laughed, smirking as he turned back to the screen and wrapping his hand around the larger male's knee. Derek technically hadn't argued or said he was wrong, meaning he clearly agreed with Stiles' comparison.

It was just too bad Derek no longer had the Camaro.


End file.
